


he shines

by Knightblazer



Series: together again (the Detroitsistor verse) [2]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bad Jokes, Bottom Connor (Detroit: Become Human), First Time, Fluff and Smut, Hand & Finger Kink, Hand Jobs, M/M, Riding, Sexual Content, Top Hank Anderson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-08
Updated: 2018-10-08
Packaged: 2019-07-28 04:57:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16234655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Knightblazer/pseuds/Knightblazer
Summary: Connor watches as Hank raises his head too look at him, sees the smile that slowly blooms across his face, patient and sweet and loving, so unlike the wry expressions and pained grimaces. “Connor,” he says in response, and there’s a warmth in his voice that Connor wants to bottle and always keep with him to remember this moment, just as he remembers the exact sequence of events that have led them to here, on Hank’s bed, within Hank’s room, inside of Hank’s house.(A dance, a confession, a kiss. Music in the background with soft lyrics that proclaimI will always find you, like it's written in the stars.It is Hank’s favourite song, and now it is Connor’s too.)[also known as: the porny coda towe all become]





	he shines

**Author's Note:**

> After a million years I am finally here with that fluffy porn post post epilogue to [we all become](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15094874). While its not _entirely_ necessary to have read that fic to enjoy this, this fic does reference several things in _we all become_. Written for all of y'all folks who asked for this, along with everyone else who has supported _we all become_ in some form or fashion. Thank y'all, once again.
> 
> (Special mention to [defensetrain](https://twitter.com/defensetrain) on Twitter who drew that [beautiful Hankcon transistor AU picture](https://twitter.com/defensetrain/status/1046468818107678720) and kinda brought a resurgence of the idea to twitter jericho and also got me off my butt to finish this fic hahaha.)
> 
> Title of this fic comes from the bonus OST of _Transistor_ originally titled _She Shines_. [Listen to it here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zGTkAVsrfg8)!

As a (now) one of a kind prototype, many of the parts and components that Connor has within him are things that were very different from the usual android. Things like his wiring, protected twice over by special blend of silicone to be more resistant to cutting, further coated with a chemical formula that could burn a human’s skin off if they touched it with their bare hands—a deterrent to prevent any random person from simply being able to waltz up to him and pull his wires out without warning. His chassis, built to be stronger and far more durable than the average commercial android, allowing him to go out on the field and know that he will not break so easily.

And then there are the parts of him which are specifically designed for him alone. Items such as the receptors in his oral cavity, designed to ingest and analyse samples in real time; alongside that, the creation of what can be best described as a facsimile of a human’s digestive system so that the ingested samples had somewhere to go for him to eventually dispose of. His operating system, painstakingly redone from the ground up to integrate all the unique modules that Cyberlife had wanted in him in order to make him perfect for what he needed to be—social adaptation, forensic analysis, reconstruction, so on and so forth. 

Then there are his hands. His hands, which are outfitted with almost twice the number of sensors that the rest of his body possesses. Sensors that are specially made to pick up evidence, to use in crime scenes, to be able to calculate the diameter of a blunt force trauma wound down to the very millimetre but would never be able to feel how soft the fur of a St. Bernard can actually be.

Until the Transistor, Connor had never known what it would be like to actually feel.

He remembers the time when he had touched that glass window in the reconstruction of the DPD within Kamski’s system, had felt the sharp, sudden bite of ice and cold upon what should have been nothing but synthetic skin. Cyberlife’s special invention of projection and creation that could emulate a perfect recreation of what human skin would feel like. But a perfect emulation was always meant to be just that—an emulation. No matter how perfect that emulation is, it could never compare to the real thing.

Yet, now, Connor has it. Is allowed to have it, because of the human who went against all odds for him.

The human, who now kneels next to him in bed and now currently has one of Connor’s hands in both of his broad, callused ones. Connor can only watch with wide, adoring eyes his partner drags his thumbs down the curves of his palm, tracing the carefully crafted lines on that part of his skin that some designer from Cyberlife had painstakingly put there. His whole body has been designed as an intended masterpiece of perfect imperfections, but Connor can’t help but think that they all fall short when compared to _him_.

He, who has brought the hand closer to his face now, and when he presses his lips to the tip of his index finger Connor can’t stop himself from moaning, “Hank.”

Hank, Hank, Hank. The only thing that matters right now; the only person who Connor could have ever wanted, even right from the very beginning. 

Connor watches as Hank raises his head too look at him, sees the smile that slowly blooms across his face, patient and sweet and loving, so unlike the wry expressions and pained grimaces. “Connor,” he says in response, and there’s a warmth in his voice that Connor wants to bottle and always keep with him to remember this moment, just as he remembers the exact sequence of events that have led them to here, on Hank’s bed, within Hank’s room, inside of Hank’s house. 

(A dance, a confession, a kiss. Music in the background with soft lyrics that proclaim _I will always find you, like it's written in the stars_. 

It is Hank’s favourite song, and now it is Connor’s too.)

Connor shoves the rest of his hand up onto Hank’s face in a clumsy fumble. “Please,” he begs, not willing to wait any longer, not when he has already waited for so long. (Four months, three days, eight hours and fifty seven minutes to be precise.)

Hank wraps fingers around his wrist and gently tugs it aside so that he can look down at Connor, eyes lighting up in amusement. “Want it that bad, huh?” he mutters, and the way his voice slips into a rougher, lower registers has Connor shivering from the waist up. 

Connor makes a sound from the back of his throat and wriggles the hand that is in Hank’s grip. “Want _you_ ,” he counters, and it's only because of his voice box modulation that he sounds completely even.

One of the corners of Hank’s lips curls up just a little, but Connor can easily sense the way his heartrate speeds up ever so slightly.

“You already have me,” says Hank, and he turns his head to the side, expertly maneuvering his grip on Connor’s hand so that he can bring up two of Connor’s fingers so that there is space for Hank to slide his mouth over with a hum.

His sensors explode with data all at once. The chemical makeup of Hank’s saliva, lingering traces of mouthwash he had used, a simple cheek swab test report (clean), the state of his dental care ( _four years overdue for a dentist visit_ ). But all of that data pales in comparison to the way Hank drags the flat of his tongue over the very tips of Connor’s fingers; he feels the heat from Hank’s mouth bleeding into him, a heat so soft and fluid that it flows down the length of his arm and spreads through the rest of his body just like the thirium that powers his biocomponents. Connor feels as if his wires are burning up but yet there is no notification that tells him so.

Connor can’t keep himself quiet even if he tried. His mouth falls open, and he feels his own lips shape the sound of Hank’s name through the rush of static in his ears. “Hank.”

All he gets in response is the vibrations of Hank’s throat as the man hums before he pushes Connor’s fingers deeper into his mouth. His tongue laves at the space between his fingers, rubbing in and out of that gap, and he firmly claps his lips around the base as he starts to apply suction in addition to what he’s already doing. Connor feels the strange ghostly heat in his wiring rise as his body starts to tremble, the sensors that Hank is touching with his tongue firing off packets of data after data at him. His HUD spazzes at the deluge of information that his processors keep trying and failing to make sense of. There is not enough data in the world that could hope to fully process the pure, electric sensations of Hank showing him how to make love.

He does not know how much time passes between Hank sucking on his fingers and when he finally pulls away, but even then it does not feel like it is enough. Connor lets quiet, wanting sound as he tries to shift his hand forward, wanting his fingers back inside, but Hank’s grip around his wrist is steady and solid.

Hank reaches down and uses his other hand to brush back the lock of hair on his forehead, his eyes warm and his smile fond. “No need to rush,” he murmurs, voice having dropped to a low register that has Connor’s internal components to buzz in sudden energy. “Night’s still young, you know.”

The night is indeed still young, but at the same time there are just so many things that Connor wants to do with Hank, and he’s not sure if a single night will be enough for them to go through them all. Logically he knows that they will have other nights to explore and appreciate each other more but the novelty and urgency of this being their _first_ burns in his mind. He wants it all to be good for Hank so that he, too, will always be able to remember it.

“I’ve waited long enough,” he voices out, trying and failing to hide the impatience biting at him. “I _want_ you, Hank.”

The words make their intended effect. Connor sensors inform him of Hank’s jump in heartrate and increased dilation of his pupils. The beginnings of a flush has made its appearance, small hints of red splotches making themselves visible at his neck and jaw and cheeks. He raises his other hand to cup Hank’s cheek and rubs his thumb against the blush that has taken root there; all these reactions are so beautiful, so human, and Connor loves being able to see every moment of it.

Hank lets it happen for a few moments more before he shakes his head to dislodge Connor’s hand away from his face. “You’re trying to fucking kill me here, Connor,” he mutters lowly.

Connor, undeterred, places his hand back against Hank’s cheek once his head stills. “I’m simply expressing the things that I’ve always wished to say.” So many thoughts, so many feelings—so many memories, especially the ones when they had been within the Transistor. “I’ve had a lot of time to think about this.” And they already had so many missed chances in the past. So many times where they could have lost all their future chances to be where they are now. The both of them had to fight in order to arrive here together; now that they have it, Connor has no intention to ever lose it. Not again. Not ever.

And since Connor has just said that he is expressing the things in his head—that also means that these thoughts, too, are not exempt. “Hank, I—”

He cuts himself off when Hank leans forward and presses the fingers of his free hand against Connor’s mouth. The android instantly falls silent, his hand falling away from Hank’s cheek, hearing nothing but the near silent-hum of this thirium pump and feeling nothing but the faint heat of Hank’s fingers from where they’re resting on his lips. 

“Stop using that big robot brain of yours,” Hank murmurs, a wry smile playing on his features. “You’re not the only one who’s been thinking about this.”

In retrospect Connor knows he probably should have expected a probability like this, but yet at that point in time the only thing that really happens is that his processor abruptly decides stutters over several functions altogether that renders him unable to do anything else except to stare at Hank.

“You—” Connor starts and stops in the same breath when he realizes that he’s trying to speak with Hank’s fingers on his lips. He shifts a little then, just enough so that he can tilt up his head and leave his face clear, and his processors take another moment to rework the question to settle on the right words for him to speak. “—you thought about this?”

Evidently those were _not_ the right words to say, because Hank is quickly scowling, displeasure and annoying showing through. “Yeah, I—how the fuck could I not? What with your…” he trails off, using the hand that had originally been over Connor’s mouth to gesture down the length of him in lieu of finishing his sentence.

It probably takes longer than it should have for Connor to make the connection—but in his defense, he is a little bit distracted. Not to mention surprised, once the meaning of Hank’s gestures click in his mind. “You called me goofy,” is what he ends up saying eventually, because that _is_ the truth. He can even replay the entire memory if Hank has already forgotten about it.

The scowl on Hank’s face only deepens. “Now you’re just ruining the mood,” he says, and it just barely manages to not become an all-out grumble.

At least that answers the question about Hank’s memory.

Connor flashes an apologetic smile as he reaches back up to touch Hank’s cheek yet again. “I didn’t mean to tease,” he says, hoping that the sincerity in his voice goes through. “You simply haven’t really mentioned anything about my physical appearance again since that one time, so…”

He trails off, not quite sure how to end that sentence all of a sudden. It's strange how, despite all the processing power he does possess, there are still so many things that seemingly come out of left field. It is one of the many things he’s had to deal with since deviating, and Connor isn’t sure if he will actually ever get used to it. Maybe he never will. And perhaps… that may be alright. Maybe. That too might be something he can never be certain of.

But at the very least there is Hank. Hank, who is no longer scowling but instead smiling down at him, dark blue eyes lighting up in mirth.

“Never knew you were that concerned with how you looked,” he says with a soft chuckle tacked onto the end of those words, and now its Connor’s turn to make a face. It’s not that he had been particularly _concerned_ , but, well… okay, yes, perhaps he had some worries. Despite everything since then his features were initially selected and designed by Cyberlife to allow him to blend in harmoniously with humans, and to hear it happening otherwise is a small cause of concern. Still, he supposes he does know better now.

Connor smooths out the grimace he had been making and focuses properly on the sight of Hank’s amused expression, taking a snapshot of it to save in his data banks. “You should smile more often. It suits you.”

The blush from before comes back onto Hank’s face in full force. “Killing me, Connor. We just talked about this.”

Connor smiles. “Sorry,” he says, even though they both know that he doesn’t feel it here. Not that it is a bad thing in this case.

Hank lets out a sigh. “Fucking androids,” he grumbles.

“I hope you don’t mean that literally. I don’t think I’m open to sharing.”

Connor can’t pretend that he isn’t fond of the way Hank’s blush deepens further. “ _Connor._ ”

He laughs this time. “Sorry,” he apologizes again, and this time he _does_ mean it. He definitely doesn’t want to send Hank to an early grave out of sheer embarrassment.

Hank gives him a look that says he doesn’t entirely believe him. Connor smiles once again in return and moves his hand to properly cup Hank’s jaw in his palm. “Let me make it up to you.”

“If it's with your mouth you had better not been licking any weird shit recently.” Despite the words Hank is leaning in anyway, shifting himself to lie down next to Connor instead of kneeling. “And it doesn’t matter if you sanitize or whatever. It's the principle of the whole thing.”

Connor tilts his head and considers this for several moments. “I won’t tell you, then.”

Hank rolls his eyes in response. “Asshole,” he mutters, but his tone is fond and he also doesn’t stop himself from closing the distance between them. Hank kisses him tenderly this time, an arm draped over his waist to keep him close, and the warmth of their bodies pressed against each other turns Connor into jelly.

They stay like that, kissing for what feels like ages, and Connor can’t say that he minds at all. Kissing, he thinks, is quickly becoming one of his most favourite things to do with Hank. To feel the heat of his mouth, the warm press of his body, the addictive glide of skin against his own synthetic one—it’s an intimacy that he can share with Hank, an experience they can enjoy together regardless of the barriers between them. Connor doesn’t know if this is the same as the type of interfacing that he knows goes on in android to android relationships, but he wants to believe that the intimacy in it is similar to what he experiences here.

Hank rolls them over at some point, letting Connor lie on his back as Hank hovers over him, licking the inside of his mouth one more time before he pulls away. His eyes are almost black now, pupils incredibly dilated from arousal. Connor can’t help but shiver at the intense look that Hank sends his way, circuits sparking with unknown energy.

“What do you want, Connor?” Hank’s voice is low and almost wrecked just from the kissing alone, and knowing that he is the cause of it delights Connor in a way he hadn’t expected. “Tell me.”

The answer to that question is all too easy. “You, Hank,” he murmurs, reaching up to place his hand at the back of Hank’s neck in order to draw him back. “I’ve only ever wanted you.”

They kiss again, and Connor moans into Hank’s mouth as he (re)takes in the hot wet sensation of their tongues gliding against each other, the scratch of Hank’s beard against his cheek and chin and the rest of his body, the roughness of his palm as Hank drags a hand down his front. It’s all heat and sensation and Connor can only melt into Hank’s warm embrace all around him.

Hank pulls away after several long moments and places his lips against his ear. “Since you’re being so unhelpful, then I guess I’ll just have to do my best to give you the full course.” Hank’s voice is warm and low when he speaks, and the heavy promise of those words causes Connor to shiver again. “Show you some of the best parts of being alive.”

Everything with Hank is easily the best part of being alive, but Connor is never one to turn down new opportunities—especially when he can do them _with_ Hank. “I hope you can deliver on that promise,” he says, tilting his head back so that he can catch Hank’s gaze with his own.

Hank rolls his eyes. “Asshole,” he says once more.

“You like it.”

“Fuck yeah, I do.” Another kiss, then the warmth of Hank’s hand as the man palms over his cock that is starting to rapidly fill in response to the external stimuli. Connor feels the sensors there lighting up all at once and the rush of electricity that zips through him leaves him breathless and gasping. He pants hotly into Hank’s mouth, hearing the near-silent whirl of his internal fans as they activate in a bid to try and cool his systems.

Hank lets out an approving groan of his own. “Fuck, you got this hot just from one touch alone?” He sounds incredulous about this, somehow, as if he didn’t think that it would be at all possible—and that notion is the most ridiculous thing about it all, Connor thinks to himself. Why wouldn’t he respond, when everything about him is telling him how much he wants Hank?

“I already told you, I’ve had a lot of times to think about this.” Preconstruction after preconstruction of the possibilities in where Hank would have accepted his feelings, of the many things they could have done together, sex related or otherwise. Connor had never necessarily thought of himself as a being with sexual wants and desires, but somehow when it involves Hank it just feels incredibly natural. He thinks Hank may be the only person he could ever want to do this with.

Connor hears Hank letting out a huff above him. “All that power in your super robot brain and you use it to fantasize. If that’s not being a deviant then I don’t know what is.” He finally starts to stroke his cock after those words, groaning again when he sees the way Connor moans and arches up to meet his hand. “Fuck, yeah, you like that?”

A nod. “Yes.” He likes this. He likes how big Hank’s hand feels around him, the broadness of his palm and the calluses on his fingers that only adds on to the sweet friction. He likes how he can _feel_ all of this, to be able to experience Hank’s touch in the most intimate of ways and return it with his own.

Hank’s hand speeds up. His thumb catches the head and presses against the silt. Connor feels as if all of his sensors are suddenly glitching up, skipping through fragments of data without his knowledge. He opens his mouth to try and vocalize this but Hank leans down for another kiss, and his systems shiver at the groan that Hank lets out into it. His internal fans whirl even louder in response as Connor kisses back, a constant buzz that leaves him panting.

It all already feels too much. Strings of garbage data cycle through his processors and his HUD flickers through error after error. Connor dismisses all of them without a second thought. He doesn’t want to lose any of this. He never wants to lose any of this. He wants Hank, Hank, _Hank_.

A responding groan. “Yeah, Connor,” he hears the man say. “Yeah, Connor, I’m here, I’m here, you’re so good for me, wanna see you come, come for me now— _fuck_ —”

Hank’s hand twists around him, squeezing at the head with perfect imperfect pressure, and he instantly shatters. His mind fragments into a million segments, but yet he feels safe because he knows all those fragments are being held in the cradle of Hank’s big, warm hands. The same hands that guide him through the aftershocks that wreck through his chassis, touching him with warm, gentle pressure that has him easing back bonelessly onto the bed, his entire body as pilant as clay despite the fact that he had been built with some of the most durable materials known to man.

He doesn’t know how long he spends like this, boneless and floating, held in suspension by Hank’s warmth all around him. But eventually his systems realign and his optics comes back into focus, and the first thing Connor sees is Hank’s fond expression.

“Finally back online?” he asks.

Connor nods. “Yes,” he responds, then proceeds to shift in the optimal angle so that he can flip them over. Hank doesn’t put up a fight and lets himself be pinned down to the mattress. Connor shifts himself again so that he straddles the man’s hips, and sees in his HUD how his arousal heightens further. 

Despite that, however, Hank’s hands are still gentle when he sets them on Connor’s knees and slowly runs them up the length of his thighs. “You don’t have to do anything for me, Connor. I can do this on my own.”

He shakes his head in return. “I want to do this.” The way that Hank constantly looks out for him is touching; Connor knows this is how he can trust Hank, if he has not already. He knows he can place himself in Hank’s hands and not have to worry, because Hank will always be there for him. They’re partners, now, after all—equals. And it certainly wouldn’t be equal if Hank did not achieve climax after he has.

Connor reaches down and takes one of Hank’s hands. He leans forward and guides the hand to his ass. Hank quickly gets the message and moves his hand down the curve of his ass, fingers sliding into the cleft and pressing in gently. He feels the drag of Hank’s rough fingertips against him and whines softly.

Hank pulls away slightly, a frown on his face. “Pretty sure we’re gonna need lube if that’s what you want.”

Connor frowns as well back in return. “You can’t hurt me, Hank. I can easily adjust myself to accommodate you.” He may not be as… _comfortable_ as the Traci models, but he _had_ been designed to be able to mingle with humans without being discovered. It had not been a big leap to include the probability of sexual advances in that regard.

“Principle, Connor.” Hank moves his hand away again and shifts to sit up, wordlessly nudging Connor to get off his lap. The android does so, though his confusion remains. He simply wants Hank as soon as physically possible, and he knows that Hank desires him too. Why would he want to delay this?

He watches as Hank rolls to the side of the bed, one hand opening the top drawer of his bedside table and carelessly rummaging around it. He lets out a soft ‘aha!’ once he’s apparently found the item he had been searching for in there—the item that turns out to be tube of lubricant intended for sexual use.

Connor scans it in passing interest; it’s close to its expiration, but still usable. “I can upgrade myself to self-lubricate in the future, if you desire.”

Hank stares at him in response. “What?” he asks, even as Connor notices the jump in his pulse.

A brief blink. He isn’t entirely sure if Hank had actually intended for that to be an actual question, but he figures it is better to address any lingering concerns that Hank may have. Especially if that leads to Hank finally committing to them having sex without any more interruptions. “My sexual components are modifications of the Traci models. It will probably take some figuring out, but—”

“Alright, alright, just—hold your horses there.” Hank raises his free hand and rests the palm over Connor’s chest, and the touch is enough to stop Connor in his tracks. Feeling the heat of Hank’s hand against his skin is enough for him to recall with perfect accuracy when that same heat had been wrapped around his cock, and his thirium pump stutters at the memory. Connor wants to be patient but he also isn’t sure how much longer he’s willing to wait.

Connor stares down at his hand. Hank notices that Connor is staring, and he sighs, moving said hand to gently hold his chin and tilt his head back up so that Connor is looking at him again. 

“I don’t want you to change yourself for me,” Hank says, his voice as gentle as the look that he gives to Connor. “We’re supposed to be partners—equals, right? That means you don’t do things just because you think I want it. You do it because _you_ want them.”

“But what I want is for you to be happy, Hank.” The answer comes out from him unbidden; in another time and place perhaps he would have kept those words more under wraps, but they have already been through so much. Connor does not desire any more regrets even in his notably short life thus far.

The expression on Hank’s face shifts momentarily at that, the gentle look twisting into something that briefly shows the demons that Hank still wrestles within himself. Connor knows that there is still a lot to work on together before Hank can always feel himself deserving of everything that Connor wants to give him, but there is no rush for that. He will be with Hank for as long as he is allowed to, and they can work on those feelings.

Knowing that words will not reach him here, Connor elects to act instead. He grabs hold of the wrist of the hand that had been at his chin and tugs it up, then leans in to press a trail of kisses from his fingers to the back of his palm. It is a small gesture, but he hopes it will be enough to show what he means. 

Another sigh from Hank. His fingers curl, brushing ever so briefly against Connor’s own hands. “If that’s what you want. But we still gotta talk about it, alright?” His tone, however gentle, still brooks no argument.

Connor nods. It would be illogical for Hank to be happy if he doesn’t know about it after all. “It’s what I want.”

“Alright, now that we’ve got that out of the way…” Hank picks up the tube of lubricant from where he had left it on the mattress and presents it to Connor. “Do you want me to open you up, or do you want to do it yourself?”

The android considers the options for several moments. He does have the basic Traci programs installed, so it is not a problem if he were to do it himself, but Connor desires the touch of Hank’s hands on his body, to feel as much of him as possible. “I want to feel your fingers inside me.”

Hank chuckles. “Alright,” he says again, making a move to uncap the lubricant. “C’mon, get back over me.”

Connor complies, shifting himself to straddle Hank once again as the man settles back down in bed. He watches eagerly as Hank coats his fingers with the lubricant and reminds himself to _wait_. Hank will give him what he wants in time. He just needs to be patient.

Hank finishes preparing his fingers and puts the lubricant aside. Connor adjusts himself to give Hank the optimal angle for his fingers to penetrate him and looks down at his partner with a pleading look. “Please.”

Another chuckle from Hank. “Needy,” he murmurs, voice clearly teasing, and Connor would say something about that if Hank hadn’t decided to slowly press a finger into him at the very next moment. His HUD lights up, informing of the intrusion, but a mere notification is nothing compared to the pure _sensation_ that he can feel just from this alone. He feels the soft burn of Hank’s finger as it slides into his ass, the thickness and girth of it, the size of it above the average of the usual American male of Hank’s disposition. Connor loves it already.

He clenches around it, thrilling in the soft curse that Hank gives out in response. “Fuck,” he says, then says it again when he sees and feels Connor’s cock starting to fill up at where it’s pressed against his stomach. “Shouldn’t you have some kind of refractory period?”

Connor sucks in a breath and nods. “I did,” he answers, “But I overwrote it— _ah_ —” He’s cut off when Hank suddenly slides in another finger into him, and he almost tumbles down onto Hank at the sharp jolt of pleasure that barrels through his circuits. He only manages to keep himself upright by bracing his palms on Hank’s chest, fingers curling into fizzy mess of curls that is Hank’s chest hair.

“Fuck,” Hank curses once more. “You really want this, huh?” Even as aroused as he is there’s still an undercurrent of something that sounds like _awe_ , as if Hank is surprised that Connor could desire him this much. But the truth of the matter is that he does; he desires everything about Hank, whatever the man can give him. He is far from the quiet, compliant machine that Cyberlife and Amanda had originally intended him to be. Now he is so much more, and he has his own needs and wants.

He attempts to voice this out to Hank, his mouth opening, but whatever words that he intends to say dissolves into a garbled, static cry of Hank’s name as the man crooks his fingers and brushes against the deepest, most sensitive part of him. “H-Hank—”

Hank growls in response, and the sound of it has Connor shuddering through his entire chassis. “Should’ve figured those perverts at Cyberlife would’ve given you a prostate.”

It takes a moment for Connor to find his voice to speak. “P-Prototype,” he gasps out, keening and clenching around Hank’s fingers once more when fingers rub up against that bundle of wires within him. “Cyberlife outfitted me with… everything.” Everything they had felt necessary for his model type, and in time they would have analyzed him to decide on what would stay or not. In a way, Connor is glad for it—that he has been given all these ways to feel Hank.

“Perverts, that’s what they are.” Although Hank certainly doesn’t stop the movements of his fingers inside of him. Connor continues to encourage him with gasps and moans, hands clenching and unclenching against Hank’s chest. His cock is fully hard now, precome already leaking, and Connor shivers at every burst of pleasure that explodes within him everytime he manages to rub himself properly on Hank’s soft, yielding stomach, leaving trails of precome all over his skin.

Connor loses his ability to keep track of time while Hank pleasures him like this. All of his sensors are only focused on Hank, his processors running in an endless loop of _hankhankhank_. All he knows is Hank’s body underneath his, Hank’s fingers warm and thick inside of him, Hank’s voice washing over him as he murmurs praise after praise. He remembers how Hank’s voice had been within the Transistor, how his tunes and song had wrapped around him, cradling him in a melody of comfort and security. What he feels right now is almost the same, if only because this is so much more.

Eventually Hank stops and pulls out his fingers, causing Connor to whine and clench around the sudden emptiness that he feels. He stares down at Hank and starts to run his hands down the length of Hank’s body, using touch to try and feel that aching void that only Hank can fill. “Hank,” he calls out, already begging.

Hank hums and runs his clean hand up Connor’s flank, resting on his hip and giving it a squeeze. “Your choice, Connor,” he rumbles, “You get three fingers, or my cock.”

He hardly needs a moment to decide. “Your cock,” he gasps out, trembling alone at the thought of it. “Please, Hank.”

Another curse. “Should’ve figured.” He slides around to stroke his own cock a couple of times, spreading the remainder of the lubricant on his erection, then wipes his hand clean on the bed sheets and places it on Connor’s other hip, giving both sides a squeeze as he attempts to nudge Connor off his thighs. “Gonna need a second to get ready.”

Connor shakes his head emphatically in return, reaching back to grasp Hank’s cock instead and shivers at the groan that comes out from Hank when he does so. “I’m an android, Hank. I’m clean.”

Hank raises his head for a second before he lets it fall back down with another groan when Connor squeezes his cock. “Fuck, okay. If that’s what you want.”

“It’s what I want.” And right now what he wants even more is to finally to be able to feel everything about Hank. Connor keeps his grip on Hank’s cock as he lines himself up, then begins to sink down onto him. He knows that Hank is hot and thick and good but he could have never imagined exactly how incredible all of those feelings could be, and already he is lost. He shakes on top of Hank, keening, and eventually it’s Hank who guides Connor down the rest of the way, moaning when he bottoms out inside.

Connor runs his hands over Hank’s body once more, the soft planes of his chest and stomach a wonderful counterpoint to how hard the man is inside of him. Even like this Connor already feels so good, he thinks his components might burst from all the things that he is processing.

He tilts his head down and stares at Hank, who is also clearly holding on himself. “Hank,” he moans out his partner’s name as he shifts ever so slightly, clenching nice and tight around him.

Hank swears, hips jerking in an aborted thrust. “Fuck. Don’t tease an old man, Connor.” He tightens the hold he has on Connor’s hips as he says that, sucking in on his bottom lip and worrying at it with his teeth.

Connor laughs at the words, although it comes out shaky and breathless. “It’s only teasing if I don’t deliver.” He clenches around Hank again after those words, just to prove his point.

Hank laughs as well. “God, you’re such an ass.”

“Only because you’re inside it.”

“Fuck.” Connor supposes it's a good thing that Hank’s face is already flushed from arousal. “Only you can come up with these corny comebacks.”

Connor smiles, glad that even if it is just in this moment, he can make Hank happy. “Speaking of coming…”

A snort. “Fucking incorrigible,” Hank mutters out, moving his hands up and down Connor’s sides, fingers tracing the lines of his designed musculture. “You are such a bad influence.”

“I only learned from the best.” Connor shifts himself at this point, bracing his knees at Hank’s sides and touching his chest and stomach once again. “Now show me more.”

Connor starts to move as soon as he’s said those words. Hank groans and starts touching him everywhere, his hands roaming all over the planes of his back and chest. Pleasure quickly builds back up inside of him, Hank’s cock hard and hot and thick, brushing up against his prostate almost every time. He tries to focus on moving in the most optimal way at first but quickly loses the ability to process anything. What he feels now is more than data, more than numbers and booleans and functions. Like this now, in Hank’s hands and his love and their shared pleasure, he has never felt more alive.

Hank eventually rests his hands on Connor’s hips once more. “God, Connor, you’re perfect. So perfect. Fuck.” He tightens his hold on his hips and starts to thrust upwards to meet Connor’s own movements. “C’mon, let me hear you. Wanna hear how good you feel.”

Connor hasn’t exactly been keeping quiet, but at Hank’s command he lets himself start to speak more freely. “I feel—good. Your cock… it feels so good. Hank, please—”

“Fuck.” The swear comes out in a low groan this time round. Hank shifts himself to thrust up better, and manages to hit his prostate. Connor moans out loud, his entire body jerking altogether as pleasure roars through him, hot and thick and vibrant. Hank swears again and attempts to hit that spot one more time; he succeeds and this time the pleasure is so overwhelming that Connor ends up collapsing over Hank’s front.

It all feels so good, so intense, so _alive_ —Connor claws his fingers into the sheets and tilts his head to look at Hank, his vision blocked by the countless notifications in his HUD telling him how close he is to overheating. Connor dismisses them all at once as he calls out Hank’s name one more time. “Hank, I feel—everything is—I’m gonna—”

Hank groans. “Yeah, yeah, I got you.” He slides his hand down between them, wrapping his hand around Connor’s aching cock, thumb smearing the ejaculate already gathered there. Connor’s whole body jerks at the touch and he moans, fans whirling like they’ve never been before. He can feel the heat building up in his chassis, like its ready to explode out of him. He clenches harder around Hank and increases the speed of his own movements, keening when Hank’s hand falters around him because of that.

He feels Hank’s other hand shifting to rest at the back of his neck, shakily squeezing at the nape so that Connor can look at him. “Gonna come,” he grunts out once he sees Connor’s dark gaze on him, words coming out in a near breathless huff.

Connor nods, unable to vocalize anything himself at this point. He’s also right there on the precipice, balancing on that knife’s edge of pleasure before the deep drop to the bottom. The only thing keeping him in place right now is Hank—his hands and his cock and his mouth, open and panting—

There’s no command, no objective that tells him what to do, but Connor is moving anyway, acting on something like instinct alone. He leans in, closing the distance between them and covering Hank’s mouth with his own as he initiates a deep, hungry kiss. Hank returns it with equal fervor, and then in the next moment he’s moaning into Connor’s mouth as he comes, releasing inside of him. 

Connor feels that burst of muted heat, thinks _oh, he’s coming_ , and apparently that’s all he needs before everything decides to overload within him and then he’s coming as well. He returns Hank’s moan with his own as he spills his own ejaculate in the space between their bodies, riding that high of pleasure before it crests and slowly settles him back down to earth.

What happens after that feels like something akin to a soft reboot. Connor feels his systems slowly coming back online one by one, and slowly his sensors start trickling in data back to him. Data such as Hank’s body temperature, the chemical makeup of his sweat and the scan results of the ejaculate Hank released within him.

Connor reads that last one with a passing interest. “Your sperm counts seems to be reasonably healthy, given your age range.”

Hank groans from underneath him. “There’s something called afterglow, Connor.”

Ah, yes. Of course. Connor murmurs an apology and turns to nuzzle his face against Hank’s cheek instead. Hank gives his cock a few more strokes before finally pulling away, wiping his hand on the sheets before trailing fingers up and down his spine. Connor knows that he should move, eventually, but for now he’s content lying on top of Hank, soaking in the warmth of his body, a body that he loves and will always remember without fail.

After a while Hank shifts to rest his hand between his shoulder blades, rubbing at the spot there as he begins to hum their favourite song. The familiar tune sweeps over Connor, warm and welcoming, and Connor thinks he will never tire of this.

He nuzzles Hank’s cheek for a while more before he presses a kiss. “I love you.”

The hand at the back of his neck moves up to delve fingers into his hair instead. Hank twists his head in order to return Connor’s kiss on the cheek with one against his lips. 

“Yeah,” he says when he pulls back, and gives Connor the most brilliant smile he’s ever seen. “I love you, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> I kinda outed myself already so uh, feel free to hit me up [@tasogareika](https://twitter.com/tasogareika) on Twitter if you want to shout about Hankcon and Transistor with me, among other things. This pairing has claimed my soul.


End file.
